Safe Hiding

Jasmyn stuffed several wads of assorted clothing against the closed closet doors; fumbled in a side pocket of the duffel bag, fished out a folding solar light lamp, and punched the activation button. Cool white light flooded the once elegant walk-in closet. Noticing the condition of what remained, she guessed the building had once been a fortress of a local big wig, a food dealer for the area. The lower floors of the building were probably used as barracks for gang, or soldier warriors. Like any other clan organization, a soldier could if he or she were smart and good at doing their job, climb up through the lower ranks to live on different floors of the building. The higher the floor, the higher the rank in echelon, thus the top floors were reserved for the elite. The elite were those who knew how to play the game of staying alive.

The concept was hard for Jasymn to understand although her mother had come from such a clan. Where money and power ruled there was always the need to fight to keep what was owned, or fight and steal more, even if it caused others to suffer and die. Growing up in the Free North West, Jasymn learned early that barter and sharing was the key to her survival. It was her father’s teachings before his death that had kept her alive so far. “Find a need and fill it to the best of your ability.” he would say, “…and you will always have a place to live, and friends who love you. People who need people will always help you if you’re lucky.”

Opening the drawstrings of the duffel bag, the calico kitten sat for a moment licking her paw and cleaning one ear as if he had been casually napping. Jasymn fed him a 3cc syringe of protein and vitamins that had cost her more than she normally paid for her own food. There were six syringes remaining and they had to last until they reached the border crossing. She remembered the first dog she had rescued. Gritting her teeth she cussed, vowing to fight even harder to find and store the precious life saving drugs the rich took for granted. Her food supply was running low: four packets of dehydrated apples and pears, and the rest a various assortment of dehydrated vegetables she had bartered for.
Each sealed packet held the equivalent of five to six pieces of fresh fruit. Even the elite did not enjoy such good food. Knowing the truth of where most food came from, sent a shiver down her spine. "Predigested" had been printed on a label of food cans she had seen in a glass cases of a building called a store museum. No wonder the plagues of illness came to wipe out most of the Americas population. They were eating processed shit with tons of poisonous chemicals to mask the product sold as food. Officials before the plagues came were selfish, uncaring and heartless. The Body Snatchers were called hospitals. In the many years of plagues that occurred between 2188 to the present date, many people died asking for forgiveness from what they called, " the sins of the far-there." Jasmyn's teachers said man-his-story was evil. She wasn't sure if the stories her teachers had told her were true. The one thing she knew, her animal teachers never lied. They always told the truth, and for that she was grateful.

Quickly counting her blessings while munching on a dehydrated ripe pear, the girl opened her laptop, entered the code numbers for the secret under ground channel and typed in a progress report, giving her location as, "The Hot Zone Central California." The keyboard had been damaged so typing wasn’t easy. Struggling, she finished the report and returned the laptop to the duffel bag, then covered herself with a black leather jacket she found in the corner of the cedar closet.

Sleep fell like feathers from the sky, Jasmyn dreamed of laughter with her friends, riding mountain trails on her horse, Stanford Major. Dreams of good times, when living was easy, and all the gentle animals that were her spirit teachers met in green fields of the magic flowers of long ago California were real enough to refresh her.

A tap, tap, tap from somewhere in the wall woke the young girl. Tap, tap, tap then silence, tap, tap, tap tap, again silence, tap, tap, tap. She put her ear to the cedar panel while holding the kitten. Not being fully awake yet, Jasmyn listened carefully. Standing up she started running her hand up and down the wall panel feeling for vibrations. She starting in the corner and working her way to the center of the closet where built-in drawers and shelves blocked the back wall. Switching the solar lamp to high, she stooped low looking at the carpeted floor. There, on the right side of the closet, the carpet seemed to have barely visible markings as if something had been slid across it and had snagged several carpet fibers. Getting on her hands and knees, she looked closely at where the built-in drawers met the back of the cedar panel. She could smell the faint order of fresh air. Then she saw it. A flash, a sparkle reflected back from the light of the lamp. Something was tightly wedged behind the wooden draws and the wall.

Roof Hopscotching To Rotten Leftovers

Sweeping her weight from side-to-side, young Jasmyn Sanchez scurried up the icy ladder in a swift motion spider crawl. Once on the bucking asphalt roof, she hunkered down behind a four-foot wall to catch her breath and think what her next move might be.
"That shooter on the roof across the street must be a rookie." she said, "and a very bad shot not to have hit me with so many rounds fired." She crab crawled with heavy duffel bag to the corner of the roof, then braced her back against the wet wall in the shadows. Quickly she lifted her boots from around her neck, pulling out the wool socks that were stuffed safely inside. Putting them on wasn’t easy with numb fingers. Her right hand fingers had been cramped so tight in a vice grip holding the Colt automatic, she had to pry them loose with her left hand. While lacing up one boot, and then the other, she began to feel the burning pin pricks of her feet and hands warming.

“Okay Francisco now what?” She wanted to check on the kitten, but already knew it was safe. Listening carefully, she noticed all the guns had ceased firing. SP squad units wouldn’t stop searching for her. The rain slowed to an icy drizzle, she stared into the dark night sky. Somewhere on the pitch black roof a generator kicked in, a window light flickered several times from the square block building that allowed access to the stairwell. The door was open.
In the distance came the faint throbbing of a flitter craft.

Running to the opposite side of the roof, she saw another fire escape. The lower roof of the adjacent building was a precarious jump. Scurrying down to the first turn about on the fire escape, she tossed the duffel bag to the other building then jumped. “Sorry about that sweetheart.” She said before slinging the bag over her shoulder once again. Running full out to the other side… there, just as before, was a fire escape and a lower roofed building. Four more times she repeated her hopscotch maneuver until she reached the tall building at the opposite end of the block. This time she jumped landing on narrow ledge that lead to a gridiron balcony with French doors. Pulling a balanced throwing knife from the human leather scabbard in her right boot, Jasmyn quickly lifted a pane of glass away from cracked and weathered woodwork.

The entrance was a piece of cake, as her brother would say. Cake! Jasmyn had never tasted cake in all her seventeen years. The old ones said their parents and grandparents had eaten cake. They said it made your teeth rot. Even if such a thing as cake really existed, who would want to eat cake if it made your teeth rot? “Thanks, but no cake for me.” She said, and slipped through the unlocked door just as the low flying flitter craft with yellow searchlight swept the building and passed overhead.

From her left boot she pulled a red filtered pin-light, replacing the knife to her right. Flexing her trigger finger several times, she pulled the 45 automatic from its shoulder holster. The room smelled rotten with decaying bodies and mildew. Stepping over the decomposing bodies she slipped several times in oozing viscous liquid. No one in their right mind would look for her in this room. The SP regiment boys wearing full combat gear were pussies when it came to facing death in the face. No, they would be combing the areas outside, thinking she would run for safety in the outskirts of the city. Laughing she opened a double door closet. Two bodies sat propped up against the back wall of the large ceder-lined closet. Setting the duffel bag down, she grabbed the pant leg of what looked to be a Catalina gang member, yeah, the tats were distinctive. The two-hundred-pound corpus was stiff and hard to move. The other dead weight was a woman dressed in black leather and fishnet stockings. When Jasmyn yanked on her foot, her head thumped like a ripe melon falling from a counter top, and arm and leg had been taken. Cannibals?

Ladder to Freedom

Two shots and then a single shotgun blast, after that, all hell broke loose. One second after the first shot was fired Jasmyn lunged toward the desk grabbing the 45 automatic. Quickly stuffing the laptop into a military duffel bag sitting upright next to the un-slept-in bed. The kitten crouched and pounced on the bedspread, it’s ears flattened back against raised shoulders. Hurriedly, it too went into the duffel bag, mewing in protest as the drawstring was cinched tight.

“It will be all right little one. Someone has just saved our bacon, as momma would say.”

The rain had not stopped pouring down in over two weeks which wasn’t unusual for early-December, soon the snow would come and blanket California from the mountains to the now SP controlled coastline. She shivered and took a deep breath against the cold rain that drenched her as soon as she opened the window, the icy wind cutting like sharp knifes.

A hail of large caliber automatic machine gun fire ripped an arch pattern from the bottom to the top of the bolted steel door, Jasmyn observed just before she stepped through the hotel window and onto the fire escape. The alleyway for some reason was clear of any local government’s Special Forces Police goons. Still barefoot, she slung her boots around her neck, her best pair of heavy wool socks tucked safe inside the toes. While juggling the duffel bag over her shoulder another spray of bullets peppered the door, punching holes that looked like smoking poker chips. She had lost track of the number of rounds fired, but quickly calculated there must be at lest five, maybe six other shooters in the hallway, not counting the four she had see through the peephole. Two people were firing automatic machine guns. The police didn’t carry machine guns any more. Guns were worth their weight in gold during the first plague ten years earlier, most weapons had been confiscated, or stolen and then sold to rich countries who could afford the outrages prices. No, someone in an underground group was fighting the SP Police, and right now she was still alive and breathing thanks to them. Whoever was in the hallway shooting was giving her the chance to escape. Having a computer, a pistol, and a pet meant a trip to the work camps, or a bullet in the head for being a rebel to the Unified Western Regional Government. Jasmyn Mariana Francisco Sanchez had squeezed through some tight places before, dodging capture as nimble as the animals she had freed in the Green Zones to the North. She prayed this time would be no different.

Starting down the ramshackle fire escape, gunfire erupted below. She could only see the flashes of three barrels firing toward the alleyways entrance. Again she said a short prayer for their safety, and started climbing up toward the roof. If she could make it to the roof, of course she could make it. “Think positive.” She said out loud. Water came down in sheets of cold rain. Ice was beginning to form on the rungs of the metal ladder. “Get you sorry ass up on the roof Francisco.” She said gritted her teeth and wanting to cry. Red neon flashed, blinking from the hotel sign below. The electric humming buzzed like an old Frankenstein movie she had once seen.

The duffel bag felt like a ton, the shoulder strap dug deep in to her bones like the cold rain. Her foot slipped. “You want to die here. No! No! No! Not Here… Not like THIS.” Holding on with all her strength, she carefully felt for and found a rail with her numb toes just as sparks flashed next to right hand. A bullet ricochet, she felt the reverberations shake the cold steel she was gripping. The next bullet exploded into a brick, sending shards flying. She felt a warmth on her cheek and knew it was blood. Exhausted, she struggled with Herculean effort. Looking up, she stretched to grip the rail above. Hearing soft mewing from the duffel bag made her remember she was not alone. With bullets slamming into the wet bricks she continued to scale the slippery fire escape.

Passing Summer Days

The pulling pulse of Summer,
Warm hazy afternoons,
Where blue skys drift,
In ribbons of scent.
Remember?
Sweet honey,
Breeze.
Cottonwoods along the river,
Leaves twist and shimmer,
Moving in rythemic motion.
Pitch in tune with,
Dance of pinecones's bough.
Devotion this musical mystique,
Strumming humm of joy,
Passing Summer days,
"And you My Lady..."

You Talking To Me Punk?

This is my protector Sarah, an Angel sent to me from heaven. She is most loving and friendly, and yet very brave when it comes to defending me. She even puts up with her little brother Micky, the Irish wirehair fox terrier who thinks he is the boss. He has learned the hard way, when she gives him "that look" it usually means, "Mom! He's pushing my buttons again."

I no longer chain her up, nor does she ware a collar. She has earned her freedom as long as she doesn't chase deer. It was hard for her to understand that she doesn't own all the land around here to protect. I keep the truck door open during the day so she can sit in the passenger seat and pretend she on the road again. She loves to ride shotgun in the truck.

How Do You Like My Screen Door?

What the hell! Those fancy french door curtains I saved did come in handy this Summer. The good news is, next year I can tack up another clean one. The brocade drapes I give away, they were to nice to get dirty.

I have another pile of wood like the one by my front door, only that one is stacked on pallets. Small rounds burn well in my stove and will last through the long Winter nights. It's no fun waking up to a cold house, and having to start a fire from scratch. Once the cold weather hits, the stove is pretty much going twenty-four-seven. I even clean the ashes with a fire going, using a large stainless steel restaurant mixing bowl, my welding gloves, and a wide plaster spatula.

I praying my Micky Boy recovers his health and stays with me through the Winter. He has been really sick, even puked on one of my language dictionaries...didn't need the dust jacket anyway.

I spoon feed him a gruel made of chicken stock and oatmeal, and let him drink all the slippery elm water he wants. He is a tough little guy and gets right back up when he falls over. He's comfortable and not in pain, and that for now is enough to make me happy. I think both of us, and Sarah too, have had a peaceful day, even the chainsaw worked well.

Being Real

She Has an Ax!

"Those casablanca fat cats are in for a big surprise if they think they can pussyfoot around in the dark."

Getting Ready

Saturday, time to haul in more wood.

A big stack of wood gives peace of mind.

This is no time to skirt the issue, the work must be done before Winter weather sets in.

Kindness From a Friend

A better friend than God, my Dog.

Oh, the years we spent together.

Through Spring days,

April's wind and rain.

"Just look at those muddy paws!"

Remember hot Summer days?

No park paths for us.

We cross open fields,

You running always just ahead.

We had a ball playing.

The falling leaves of Autumn.

So many colours raining,

And you running, so alive.

Chase the race of time,

Combing the woods, adventure.

Winter's cold, our foot prints,

Deep in mountain snow.

Hours spent by the fire,

Warm dreams of December.

I will always remember.

And the years went by,

Moments following each other.

My gratitude for your love,

A gift from above, in Spirit.

Honor, Faith, and Friendship.

And here we are again

My friend.

Night are getting cold,

And we both now old.

Again, you go before me.

Aglio e Olio

Trinacrian Chief Giuseppi Cucci is world renown for his Bistro recipes.
"Good cooking is no accident" he says, "A good meal is not difficult to make if you love to eat."
What! You're going to argue with an hot blooded Italian with a sharp knife?

Aglio e Olio with Thin Spaghetti
An easy one, two, three recipe.

One large pot of boiling water, one large sauté skillet, and a large platter. The platter is optional if you're tutto solo.
If you love to sing, all the better...Che gelida manina, or La rivedrá nell'estasi depending whither you like Puccini, or Verdi, both are nice to inspire a mood.

Clear away all unnecessary tools, chainsaws, etc. and arrange fresh ingredients on a clean counter top. Use the best that you can buy, or barter for. Were talking about Garlic and flat-leaf parsley, red peppers, extra virgin olive oil (the best pressed olive oil can't be purchased, or bartered for, it can only be a gift of love. Sorry it's a family thing, I hope you understand.)
Unless you live by the sea and have family members who fish... open a can of tuna packed in spring water (tuna fish packed in oil? It's a long story...companies use cotton seed oil, and cotton seed oil is not considered a food, so it could contain... poison pesticides.) If you have ever taken a cooking class from Mary Provenzano's Palermo home school on how to made and jar tuna fish in olive oil (a long process taking weeks to prepare) concider yourself truly blessed indeed. You may want to try a package of vacuum packed tuna, if so, increase the amount of olio in the recipe.

While your pasta is boiling, mash five cloves of aglio with the flat side of a knife. Heat 1/2 cup of olive oil, and sauté garlic until golden: golden, not brown, not golden brown, not burnt and bitter. Add in tuna fish and stir. Drain thin spaghetti and return to pot, and add oil and garlic. Isn't that easy?

Now you know how wonderful fresh sautéd garlic smells? We're talking vampire loathing comfort food. Toss in a hand full of chopped flat leaf parsley, diced red pepper, two or three twists from the pepper grinder (white pepper corns are best) and salt to taste while mixing.

If you like capers, add them. If you have a real wedge of Parmigiano, or Reggiano, grate on top. For God sake don't use the stuff that comes grated in a can, or Giuseppi will protest rather violently and wop ya with the broadside of his knife.

There is no need to be fancy if you live alone and spend much of your time in front of a computer screen. If you live without hot and cold running water, and doing the dishes is a hardship, by all means grab a fork and eat out of the pan, save the platter for sweets.

Aglio e Olio is a fast and cheap meal, best of all it's comfort food. If you're really blessed and have friends who give you loafs of "out of this world" Focaccia, and a bottle of their "primo" homemade wine. Hon, trust me when I say, "Bella Perfeziona."

Snake Eyed Dragon

This little dragon gale of ocean arm,
Spirit whispers the fist of fury, pain,
Winds sweep ahead of crying game.
Fighting remains of a Southern cross,
Higher shines in Northern sky, low,
Waves of unseen tears wash ashore.
More die innocent of love in rage,
Back! They cry to the unfurled big wind.
Spin, energy enters the fists of dragon.
Dream ghost fighting it's nature.